Little Brother
by ScapeArtist
Summary: Liam had faced far worse and more life-threatening situations on board ship this past year, but coming home to an empty house scared him more than an enemy cannonade at close range. Enemies were predictable. Life, he was learning, was not. For the first time, coming home didn't feel like home at all. He wondered if it ever would again.
1. O Brother Where Art Thou

**Prologue:**

David Jones let the pages he was holding fall from his hand. They drifted down, landing softly on his desk, the items he circled on each page like buoys in a sea of lost memories.

He ran his hand over his face and pinched the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes, trying to pull the full memory he was seeking to the surface.

When all the fragments began bumping up against each other to form a clearer picture, David Jones' eyes snapped open and he gathered up the pages again to make sure he was seeing things clearly. There was no mistake.

"It can't be... " he said.

* * *

 **Part 1:**

The jolly boat leaving _The Sovereign_ was cramped with several other officers and midshipmen making their way to port, and newly-promoted Lieutenant Liam Jones had secured a seat at the bow with an unimpeded view of the approaching coast. From the inside pocket of his coat, he pulled out a spyglass—a gift from his father upon his first assignment to a ship of the Royal fleet—and trained it on the town in the distance.

Liam scanned the waterfront, expecting to see his little brother, Killian, with their father not far behind, running toward the jetty, barely dodging the crews unloading all the cargo meant for His Majesty's stores and treasury from the handful of cutters preceding them. When no dark-haired boy could be seen traipsing about, he lowered the glass from his eye and frowned.

He'd been eager to tell Father and Killian of his adventures thwarting enemies and pirates alike, and he wanted to show off his new rank to someone who would be genuinely impressed. Liam learned early on in his Naval career that very little impressed the crusty, old sailors he served with. Killian, on the other hand, found everything he did fascinating, and Liam liked to be reminded now and again that he was more than a cog in a war machine.

He let out a sigh and took another look at the shore with his glass. Still no Killian or Father.

Perhaps they were just running late, he thought. No doubt Killian had lessons, or his father was busy with his own duties as Permanent Secretary to the Admiralty. There were any number of reasons to explain the lack of welcome party. Liam gently collapsed the spy glass down to fit back in his pocket.

As he watched the town draw closer and larger, he picked out the crewmen he recognized as they hauled and unloaded cargo, and tried not to feel alone. This was the first time since joining the Navy that no one was there to greet him upon his return to their home port. He felt their absence keenly in that moment.

When they finally reached shore, Liam wished his fellow shipmates farewell, slung his duffel over his shoulder, and set off in the direction of his family's home.

The walk was not long, but he spent a fair portion of it wondering if he should be worried about his father and brother, or if he was overreacting. Shifting the weight of his duffel from one shoulder to the other, he, instead, turned his mind toward the joys of reacquainting himself with a proper bed, bread that was neither stale nor infested with weevils, and perhaps a tankard or three of fresh ale. Liam had been at sea for the better part of a year, and, as much as he loved the adventure and the work of being on the open water, he appreciated the benefits of what the land had to offer as well. At least for a little while.

Curving along the coastline, the road he walked along was coming to an end at the sea wall up ahead where a man sat, smoking a pipe and looking toward him rather than out at the sea. Liam nodded at the stranger, who rose from the wall and tapped the smoking ash from the pipe bowl into the sand, and tucked the pipe into the breast pocket of his worn-looking, mud-brown jacket.

The narrow lane to his house was on the left and meandered up an incline and through a field of tall beach grass that flourished in sandy soil. The house sat atop the small bluff, the midday sun glinting off the wavy glass window panes. For a man of his father's position within the Admiralty—and before that when he was a Commodore in the Royal Navy—their house was relatively modest. Its weathered, shimmering gray shingles warmed the large blocky house with its bright, white trim. It had an enclosed widow's walk where both boys loved to go to watch the ever-changing view of the ocean, and when their mother was alive, neatly-trimmed rose bushes grew like sentinels on either side of the portico. Now they were a bit wild, but still beautiful. Generations of seafaring Jones men who spent little time at home themselves occupied the house, and someday, it would be Liam's.

Something felt off as his boots crunched over the crushed pink and white shells of the walkway to the front door. Even from the outside, the house felt unusually still.

As Liam stepped up under the portico, he dropped his duffel to his feet. He loosened his cravat and pulled a long cord from beneath his shirt. It held a key and a plain silver locket. He fit the key into the lock of the front door only to find it unlocked.

 _Odd_ , he thought. If someone were home, why wouldn't they have met him at the docks?

Pushing open the door, he stepped into the home he'd been missing.

His eyes were still adjusting from being outside as he stood in the small foyer, making it hard to see anything for a few moments. Liam listened for a moment, but heard nothing. Not the creak of a board, the shuffling of paper, or the sound of conversation from the kitchen.

He cleared his throat and called out.

"Father! Brother! I've returned!"

Liam hoped more than anything during those next few seconds that the uneasiness he'd felt earlier was an aberration. Maybe his father was going to surprise him with a celebration for his promotion and this was all an elaborate prank. But the air in the house was stale from being closed up, and, his father, while amiable, was not one to play tricks.

Instead, the silence that greeted Liam in return was like something out of a childhood nightmare. Never in his 21 years did he think that he'd be left by his own family, yet here he was, alone, with no explanation why. Even after his mother died, it was unnatural for the house to be completely empty. His father had returned from sea and stayed to raise the boys himself.

Liam had faced far worse and more life-threatening situations on board ship this past year, but coming home to an empty house scared him more than an enemy cannonade at close range. Enemies were predictable. Life, he was learning, was not. For the first time, coming home didn't feel like home at all. He wondered if it ever would again.

He cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. "Well then," he said, and took a step forward.

His voice sounded unnatural in the quiet, and his footsteps echoed loudly on the wood floors as he explored the house from top to bottom, finding no one or any indication of where they were, until he walked to his father's small study off the drawing room. The door was ajar, and Liam eased it open. Finding the room empty, he could see it was in disarray—something his father would never allow.

Papers were scattered across the secretary and floor. He began gathering them up, put them neatly in a pile on the center of the desk, and glanced at each page to see what it contained, but found no obvious meaning in them. They looked to be lists of inventory or supplies of some sort. It was one of his father's jobs as Permanent Secretary of the Admiralty to manage the accounts of the fleet and report back to the King and Parliament, and this looked like nothing more than that.

Liam stood in the study, feeling the blood start to pound a little harder through his veins. Nothing in his naval career prepared him for this. The dread he was starting to feel was worse than the anticipation of battle. In a fight, at least, he had specific duties and orders he could count on to shift his mind away from the worry of oncoming danger. A job was exactly what he needed to keep him occupied and not thinking the worst.

There was never any question that Liam would join the Navy, and he welcomed it, but Killian, well, he craved that life. Liam could see how the sea drew Killian even when he was very small. If he went missing from the house, you could be sure he'd be out at water's edge, staring at the horizon watching the ships come and go in and out of the harbor, or making his own star charts in the sand with rocks. He was a natural sailor, and a born navigator. If he were half as talented in that arena, Liam thought, he might be able to find Killian and their father sooner rather than not at all.

He certainly wasn't going to find them standing around, that much he was certain of. The beach was close by and a likely place to at least find his brother, so Liam figured that was where he should start.

Locking up the house behind him, he set out to the sea wall and pulled his spy glass from his pocket and looked up and down the sandy banks for Killian, but the only movement he saw were from the gulls and a stray cat scavenging for any dead fish washed up on shore. But no boys of any age in either direction.

His next stop was back towards town to the home of their house-keeper, Mrs. Tomkins. It didn't look like she'd been there that day at least, but he hoped she might have an answer for Liam. When he knocked on the door of their small cottage, Mr. Tomkins, a ruddy-faced man with large hands and a love of ale when he wasn't out on his fishing trawler, answered.

"Oy, Liam! What are you doing here, lad?" he asked, plainly surprised to see him standing there.

Liam gave a short bow. "Afternoon, Mr. Tomkins. Would Mrs. Tomkins be home?"

"No, son. She's off helpin' out Corrine with the newest grandchild, born just the week before last."

"Oh, uh, congratulations! That's wonderful news. I don't suppose she mentioned where my father and Killian were going?"

Mr. Tomkins looked perplexed. "Going? You mean they aren't home?"

"No, sir. And Father didn't not inform me of his plans to leave town if he did."

"I'm sorry, lad," Mr. Tomkins said, resting his thick hand on Liam's shoulder. "I don't know where he is. Do you want to come in for a sit and an ale?"

"Thanks, but I've got to see if I can track them down. Another time," Liam said, wishing he could stay and swap stories with Mr. Tomkins rather than hunt for his missing family, but that was not to be.

"Good luck, Liam," Mr. Tomkins said as Liam turned back toward the road.

He hoped that someone at the offices of the Admiralty would have some clue. Maybe Father had a last minute assignment in another town and he took Killian with him since Mrs. Tomkins wasn't around. He held onto that thought like a lifeline while his sense of panic rose a little further up from his gut.

When the clerk of the Commissioners knew nothing about David Jones' absence apart from his request for 2 weeks leave, which was not officially over, or his whereabouts, Liam began to feel sick.

Sunset had streaked the sky purple, orange, and pink when he approached the local tavern. He needed to think and figure out what to do next. All the people he thought could help him had nothing useful and now he was at a dead end.

Liam entered the small tavern—a favorite of his father's—and sat at a table not far from a small, cheery fire. He ordered an ale and a bowl of stew, and stared at the dancing flames, unable to think much at all now. He ate the stew without the excitement he'd had when he first stepped off the jolly boat earlier, but the ale did a wonderful job of numbing him. He ordered another.

Halfway through his second pint, someone sat down next to him and slapped him on the back.

"Jones!" the man exclaimed.

Turning to glare at the man, Liam stopped when he noticed the shocked expression on the man's face.

"Oh! You're not Davy! You looked like him from the back!" he said.

He nodded. "I get that a lot. I'm his son, Liam."

The older man held out his hand. "Philips. George Philips. Former shipmate of your father's."

"Pleased to meet you."

"Sorry for the rough greeting. I was surprised because I could have sworn I saw him getting on a ship last week. Couldn't imagine how he'd gotten back so quickly."

"You saw him getting on a ship?" Liam blurted out. He'd sat up and did all he could not to grab Philips' shirtfront and shake the information out of him. "Did you see my brother, too? Where were they going? What was the name of the ship?"

"Honestly, Liam, I don't know. I really didn't get a good look. I was on my way home after a long night and was a bit bleary. I didn't talk to him. Sorry. I don't know more than that."

"That's alright," Liam said, rounding his shoulders as he stared at his bowl of half-eaten stew. "I didn't know he'd been planning to leave. He didn't tell me. I've been looking for him and my brother all day."

He picked up his ale and drained it. He didn't know if he should be elated to finally have some news about his father, or furious that he'd left without a word.

Philips sipped from his own glass and told Liam the general vicinity of where he remembered seeing his father so Liam could go check in the morning with the harbormaster.

Night had fully descended when Liam returned home, and the house was thoroughly dark now. Exhaustion hit him hard as the gravity of the current situation settled in his mind. There was no way he was going to be able to do anything about his father or brother now. He might as well get a few hours of sleep and start at first light. Picking up an oil lamp in a daze, he went up the stairs to the room he shared with Killian.

The beds were made, and there were books piled on the nightstand next to Killian's. Some were for his lessons, and others were about sailing. Liam spied a copy of some star charts he'd left behind after his last leave, sticking out from the middle of the stack. He pulled the book and flipped through it, noticing notes in the margins in an uneven, child's scrawl beneath his own compact handwriting here and there.

Liam sat down on Killian's bed, digging his elbows into his thighs and resting his heavy head in his hands, his mind unable to focus. This was all too much. He had no bloody idea what was going on, and it was maddening. The thought that he may now be not just an orphan, but an only child completely alone surfaced through the haze of ale, and it made him shiver.

He groaned in frustration, rubbing his calloused hands over his face. Clenching his jaw, Liam tried to suppress the fear and sadness making every muscle in his body tighten and burn.

 _Bloody, ever-lasting, hell._

Tears welled in his eyes and he wiped them away with the back of his hand as he lay down on the bed. Crying was certainly not going to solve the problem.

Sleep, on the other hand…

* * *

 _He dreamed they were sailing. A brisk wind filling their sails, sending their boat gliding over glassy water as if it had wings and could fly. He breathed deeply the ocean air, tasting the freedom he only ever felt on the open waters. His father was at the helm, guiding the boat with an ease Liam envied. Killian stood next to him, eyes alight, and pointed to something off in the distance that Liam could not see himself. He raised his glass to his eye and looked out across the water, seeing something small and dark at the edge of the horizon. As they raced toward it, the sky darkened. Liam reflexively grabbed onto the back of Killian's shirt, keeping him close as the sea became choppy and the boat leapt and crashed down again and again. His father was doing nothing to change course and Liam looked back at him, yelling for him to come about. Something rose up out of the water—a tentacled creature. But as its arms crept over the rail, holding the boat in its grasp, they looked more like creeping vines slithering around his father and brother, snatching them both from the deck and Liam's grasp. His father was sucked down beneath the roiling water, while Killian dangled, suspended in the air, his hand outstretched to Liam who was too far away to catch him now._

 _"Father!" Liam screamed. "Killian! NO!"_

 _The last thing he saw were Killian's stormy blue eyes, wide and terrified. The last thing he heard was the sound of Killian's voice yelling for him to help._

 _"Liam! Brother, help me! Don't leave me, Liam!"_

Liam's breath caught in a sharp gasp, the nightmare lost to him, as he bolted upright from where he'd been sleeping fitfully. Not quite fully aware of his surroundings, he was being shaken and someone was calling out to him.

"Liam! Wake up! It's me, brother. Come on, now, Liam! Wake up!"

His eyes unfocused, chest still heaving, Liam whispered a strangled-sounding, "Killian?"

The blurry shape in front of him nodded, and Liam blinked, clearing his eyes.

"Ahoy, brother!" Killian said.

The pale moonlight cast a blue glow in the room; it was just enough for Liam to know for sure that standing before him was his little brother—albeit a taller and lankier version of the brother he'd left behind—looking dirty and bedraggled in rumpled clothes. Liam laughed with a joy he'd never felt before, born out of a relief that left him dazed. He and Killian had their fair share of arguments, as siblings did, but he loved his brother immensely. A life without him would have been dull, to say the least. To have him back after fearing the worst… he only hoped this wasn't a dream.

Liam reached out and grabbed the front of Killian's jacket, feeling the solidness of the boy, and gave him a gentle shake.

"That's 'Lieutenant' to _you_ , little brother," he said, pulling rank with Killian as he had since the day he joined the Royal Navy.

Killian rolled his eyes.

Liam pulled Killian to him in a rough hug then released him, only to hold him at arm's length to check him over. He couldn't hold back the questions he had been asking himself over and over.

"Bloody hell, Killian, where have you been? Where's Father?"

His shaggy, black hair hanging into his tired eyes, Killian gave his brother a lopsided grin as he swayed on his feet with obvious exhaustion. At the mention of their father, Killian's grin slanted into a grimace.

"I was with father until a few days ago. He left me in the middle of the night on a ship bound for Iscandar. I tried looking for him, but I couldn't find him," he began to explain but yawned midway through.

Reaching into the pocket of his jacket, Killian pulled out a small black bag and emptied it of a few gold coins and a scrap of paper.

"Found these in my pocket when I got dressed that next morning after he disappeared," he said, handing them to Liam. "I used some of the gold to get home. That's just what's left."

Liam put the gold down next to him, then opened up the small, dirty, scrap of paper. His father's looping script covered one side.

 _Find Liam. He will take care of you. I'm sorry._  
 _~Father_

"Liam?"

"Aye?"

Killian ran his hand through his hair and yawned again.

"Get off my bed. I wanna go to sleep."

Liam scooped the gold into his hand and stood up. Killian was removing his coat and dusty shoes.

"Warmed it up for you," Liam said, smiling.

Killian didn't even bother getting under the covers. He flopped down on the bed, his arm tucking under the pillow, and his leg hanging over the edge.

"We'll talk tomorrow, yeah?" Killian said drowsily.

"Aye. Tomorrow. Get some sleep, little brother."

Killian sighed, his words coming slow and muffled. "Liam, he's not coming back."

If Liam had an answer, or some sort of reassurance that their father _would_ return, it wouldn't have mattered. Killian was already asleep.

He set down the gold on his own bedside table, then walked over to open the blanket box at the end of his own bed. He pulled out a quilt and covered Killian with it. Looking down at his brother, all he could see was the small boy who would chase after him no matter where he went. Thanks to his father, Killian was never going to be just a young boy again. Not now. _Damn him_.

Dropping down on his bed, Liam, read the note again and again. Not a single lead or indication of what was going on or where he was going. He was _sorry_. Liam thought if he did find his father, he would show him _exactly_ what sorry felt like. He wasn't sure he would be able to fall back to sleep, he was so preoccupied mentally confronting his father and dressing him down for abandoning Killian as if he were a deckhand not fit for duty. He felt a familiar prick of hurt and resentment tugging at his chest, and, not wanting to look at it too closely, he instead concentrated on the soft, rhythmic snores coming from Killian, and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

 **A/N:** A jolly boat is like a rowboat. It is not _The Jolly Roger_. Two very different things.

The Admiralty was a very real governing body of the British Royal Navy. It was made up of active duty officers and civilians as well as the Permanent Secretary position which was a voting member who was essentially in charge of the money belonging to the Fleet. He reported to the King as well as the rest of the Admiralty.


	2. Brothers Keeper

The next morning, Liam was up with the sun as usual, and feeling less angry than he'd been the night before, having slept hard after all. Killian was still sound asleep, having burrowed beneath the blanket and turned away from the early morning sun piercing the room. Liam left the room and rummaged in his father's wardrobe for something to wear. The civilian clothes he left behind no longer fit, and his uniform needed laundering and tailoring. He found an old linen shirt and breeches and slipped them on before taking the gold Killian gave him and heading down to the market for some food.

When he returned—bread, cheese, and some fresh fruit and milk stuffed in a small sack—Killian was waiting for him by the door.

The boy's thick, dark eyebrows were arched over wide, blue-gray eyes, and the high cheekbones Liam didn't remember being as pronounced last time he was home, were deeply flushed. Killian, in general, was far more narrow than Liam remembered, more knee and elbow than anything else. He shot a tentative smile at Liam and ducked his head, scratching at something behind his ear.

"Thought you'd left me, too," he said, looking sheepish.

Liam felt horrible for not letting Killian know he was only going to be gone for a short time. He had let his stomach, which sank upon looking at Killian trying to hide his panic, think for him. Remembering how off-balance he had felt yesterday at being unexpectedly alone, he shifted his bundle to one hand and ruffled Killian's hair. Killian let out a breath, and Liam felt his brother relax.

"Can't get rid of me that easy, brother. Come, let's go sit and have some breakfast. You can tell me of your adventures," he said.

"I think I'd rather hear yours," Killian said.

"Aye, and you will. But right now, yours are the more important ones. Get some plates down, would you?"

They'd reached the kitchen at the back of the house, and Killian pulled two earthenware dishes and mugs from the sideboard and placed them on the heavy wooden table in the center of the kitchen. Liam was slicing the bread and cheese on a cutting board when he gestured to Killian to sit on the long bench facing him.

"Let's get on with it then," Liam said. "What's been going on in my absence?"

Killian grabbed a piece of the crusty bread and pulled a chunk away from it. Before he popped it in his mouth, he asked, "So what's it like to be a Lieutenant?"

Liam sighed. Killian could deflect better than some of the old sea dogs on board when they were keeping secrets from the officers. He gave Killian just enough of an answer to sate his brother's curiosity, but no more.

"I've got more men to order about, more opportunity to get in trouble, slightly better rations, and a rather large and inconvenient hat. Now," he said as if ordering one of those men under his authority, "tell me what happened."

Killian swallowed his bread and drained his mug of the milk while Liam sat, waiting as patiently as he could. He drummed his fingers on the table and raised his eyebrows at Killian.

"There's not much to tell," Killian said. "I came home one day from my lessons, and Father asked if I was ready to go sail the realms like we'd talked about doing when I was little. I thought it was a bit out of the blue, but missing my lessons for a while to go sailing with him sounded brilliant. I didn't argue."

Killian shrugged and had a bite of cheese.

Liam sat quietly, not wanting to disrupt his brother's story or have to redirect him back to it if he decided to try to change the subject again.

Killian stared off toward the kitchen window above wash basin and continued his account. "Our first ship left that afternoon, and a few nights later we were in Newport harbor to board the next. That night we were at a tavern eating dinner, and not even half-way through the meal, he said it was time to leave. Hadn't even finished my chicken. We went back to the _Wildstar_ , and the next morning I woke up to find him gone," Killian said, his voice laced with confusion and his eyes soft with a hurt Liam wished his brother didn't know.

The news Killian shared was not necessarily good. Newport was well-known not just for its busy shipping industry, but for its smuggling of goods and people. Ships went in and out of the harbor all day, and roads diverged out of the town heading in all directions, the carriage traffic steady. You could go anywhere from Newport, and if you didn't want a record of it, you didn't have to have one. People vanished from Newport all the time never to be heard from again.

Liam frowned at the implication and tried to tamp the ire that was threatening to rise up again. How could he even think to bring Killian along if the situation was dire enough that he would need to leave him behind? _What the bloody hell was going on?_

He picked at his own food on the plate, tugging the leaves off a strawberry one-by-one. Not for the first time in his life, Liam felt he didn't know his father at all. He knew his career well enough, and he respected his position within the Admiralty, but David Jones was not around much when Liam was growing up, and he couldn't begin to get into his father's head to solve this mystery. He pushed his plate to the side and looked at Killian.

"What happened next?" Liam asked.

"The first mate told me that someone was after Father, and they were searching the ship. Said it would be better for me if I hid. He wasn't sure what they would do to a child, and he wasn't having my blood on his hands. I could hear a man roughing up the night watchman trying to get information," Killian said.

"Did you get a look at him?" Liam asked.

"No. Not from where I was hiding," Killian said, shaking his head. "Eventually he left without any information, I'm guessing, since no one had any for me either, and I was _much_ nicer about asking."

Killian went on to tell Liam about how he'd stuck around town for a couple of days, skulking about, trying to see if he could spot their father or learn of his whereabouts, but there was nothing. He did hear that the King's Fleet was returning to its homeport, and he knew he needed to get back before Liam shipped out again. It took a short while, but he found a merchant ship heading back toward home that would take him as a passenger. They stopped in Portsmouth first, and it was there Killian saw some suspicious looking men at the docks, and he decided to sneak off and walk the rest of the way home, keeping to the woods parallel to the main road.

Liam was impressed with Killian's resourcefulness. He shook his head and smiled at the boy.

"You are a wonder, little brother."

Killian blushed to the tips of his ears and fidgeted his fingers against the table. "Not like we haven't been to Portsmouth before. Getting home was more tiresome than difficult," he said, sounding more than a little surprised at his assessment.

They _had_ been to Portsmouth before, but usually by sea, not land. Killian's understatement was amusing, but Liam let it go without comment in favor of another question.

"Do you remember anything strange before Father whisked you off?"

Killian looked down at his plate, contemplating for a few moments before answering.

"Perhaps? He'd been short with me a few days before we left, which was kind of unlike him. He seemed distracted, too. But that was only for a day and then he was back to normal. He was up late every night, though, in his study. Found him asleep at his desk one morning with his head on a map and a piece of paper clutched in his hand. Didn't get a look at it though. He shooed me out of there pretty quick."

"Huh," Liam said. He wondered if maybe that pile of papers in his father's study was more useful than he first thought.

"Had anyone been by to visit him here?" Liam asked next.

"Just the usual messengers from the King and the Admiralty. At least when I was home. No idea if someone was here while I was at my lessons."

Liam was becoming increasingly frustrated at the lack of information that would help him figure out what to do next. He had so many questions and it was looking more and more like maybe his father wouldn't be back to answer them. And he was afraid he wouldn't be able to take care of Killian without help. It wasn't like his father planned to be gone for a few days and Liam needed to make sure Killian ate and bathed and went to bed. He found himself currently and wholly responsible for another person, and he was terrified of failing Killian. He'd barely begun learning to take care of himself when not at sea, never mind a child.

He took comfort in the knowledge that Killian wasn't just any child. He was bright and capable the majority of the time. And far more mature for a lad his age than he probably should have been. Still, he tried to picture Killian sneaking about looking for their father and couldn't quite manage it.

"Tell, me, brother, how did you avoid being found out while you were in Newport looking for Father?"

"I pretended to be a blacksmith's apprentice looking to make a delivery to Secretary Jones."

"How?"

"I bought a cutlass with some of the gold, wrapped it up in a rag, looked like I knew where I was going, and walked quickly as if I were going to get the lash if I slowed down."

Liam shook his head. "A cutlass, eh?"

Killian shrugged. "It's more my size than a regular sword. You know, in case I needed to defend myself."

"Fair point. Do you even know _how_ to use it?"

"Aye," Killian said, affronted.

"Did you bring it home with you?"

"Of course."

"Well, then, go retrieve it, and let's go see what kind of swordsman you are, little brother." Liam hoped some proper activity would help him clear his head and maybe shake something important loose from Killian's.

"If I beat you, you have to stop calling me that. I'm not little. I'm _younger_."

"Aye, you are that, too. Let's head down to the beach so we don't wreck the house."

Killian practically snorted. "Who's going to care if we do?"

Liam hoped maybe their father still would, if he came back. And if he didn't, and he and Killian were all that were left of their family, the house would still belong to them, to Liam. This was always going to be their home, and right now it was the only constant in their lives. It was also the only place Liam could still feel any trace of his mother, whom he had adored. No, he wasn't about to take out his frustration on the house.

" _I_ might," he said firmly. He gave Killian a push out of the kitchen. "Now go."

* * *

There was a small, raised, kitchen garden out back his mother had tended to once, now left fallow, and beyond that, a sandy path that lead to the beach where Liam and Killian learned to swim and sail. Both the path and garden were in the midst of blooming and looking unkempt. As Liam pushed the growth out of the way, he wondered if he was going to have to hire a caretaker for the house. And possibly Killian. The thought bothered him more than he cared to admit.

The brothers reached the seawall and jumped down onto the soft, thick, sand, each with a weapon in hand. They faced off, and before Liam could get the teasing remark he was going to open with, Killian gave him an almost feral grin and advanced, swinging his blade in a downward slash. Liam retreated a step, but deflected Killian's attack easily.

"Cheeky little bastard, you are!" he laughed.

"For the last time, I'm not little," Killian reminded him again as he went back on the offensive.

"Yes, yes. So you keep saying. Now be quiet and fight!"

For the next several minutes, the boys moved their way up and down the small inlet, Liam letting Killian lead the fight, while occasionally throwing in a more advanced technique to see how his brother responded. Killian was far better than Liam expected him to be. He was obviously taking lessons. He wasn't really a match for Liam, with his many years of experience over the boy, but still, Killian was going to be formidable if he kept up his practice.

Liam disarmed Killian at one point, and Killian changed tactics by running at him with a yell, to throw Liam off. It worked for a moment (if only because Liam began to laugh), and Killian was able to kick at Liam. Liam grabbed Killian's ankle before he could make contact with Liam's knee, and set him off balance and down into the sand.

"What you lack in size, brother, you make up for in recklessness."

"I'm going to be at least as big as you someday, Liam. You'll see," Killian warned.

Liam laughed and held his hand out to Killian to help him upright again. "Those are some promising fighting skills you've acquired, _little_ brother," Liam said.

"Aye, Father's been teaching me…" Killian said as he worked to catch his breath.

"Thought I recognized some of his fighting style. Although I noticed you've added your own flair to it. With a longer sword, someday you'll be as dangerous as Father was, too."

Killian looked down and pushed his shoe deeper into the sand. "You're talking about him like he's already dead," Killian said, flatly.

"I know he's not dead," Liam assured him, even though he wondered if that were a lie, "but his sword fighting days aboard ship have been over for quite some time. That's all I meant."

Pursing his lips and frowning, Killian countered, "If he was so 'dangerous,' why didn't he stay and fight whoever was after him?"

"I dunno. It doesn't make sense to me either." Precious little was making sense the last couple of days, and Liam had never felt less familiar with the man he'd been calling "Father" his whole life than he did at that moment.

The two brothers hopped up on the wall to take a break, and sat in silence, watching the gulls circling and sweeping the shore for clams to crack open for their meal. The sun was high overhead, and Liam could feel a trickle of sweat roll down the middle of his back and down past the waistband of his breeches. Summer would be in full swing soon enough, and Liam would be grateful for the ocean breeze gusting across the decks of The Sovereign.

"Liam?" Killian broke into his thoughts.

"Aye."

"Did I do something wrong?" Killian asked in a quiet voice.

Liam considered his brother, who, at that moment, was looking more like the guileless lad he'd left behind almost a year ago, and not the young man Liam could see him becoming.

"Something wrong? What do you mean?"

"Did Father leave me like that because he didn't want me anymore?"

Liam's heart was breaking, and not just because he could see how deeply Killian was hurt by what their father had done, but because he wondered the same thing about himself. Was he not the son his father had been proud of after all? Were he and Killian not worth staying and fighting to be with? What could have been more important than his children?

Throwing his arm over Killian's shoulders and pulling him close, Liam gave him a quick squeeze.

"No, brother, it wasn't you. You did nothing wrong."

"Then why? Why did he leave me alone in a strange place that way?"

Liam sighed, his sadness for Killian transforming to anger with his father. "I don't know," he said, shaking his head. He looked down at his brother and smiled. "I do know that you proved yourself to be resourceful and a keen navigator, even on land. You made it home, on your own. That is not something every boy your age would be able to do. Father must have known you had it in you to survive, Killian. I can't believe he would really leave you alone if he didn't think you could handle it."

Killian smiled sadly and kicked his feet against the sea wall. "I didn't like being left alone like that, Liam. I felt like a boat untethered from its mooring," he said.

"I felt that way when Mother died."

"You did?"

"Aye. You were probably too young to remember much. But it was hard for me to lose Mum. Before you were born, Father was at sea quite a bit, and it was just the two of us. Then she was gone and a big part of me went with her."

"Oh," was all Killian said.

"But you know what?"

Killian looked up at Liam, hope shining in his eyes. "What?"

"Well, you started growing up and following me around everywhere, and it was like having some of Mum with me again. You remind me of her sometimes. And, when you are not being a right shit, I enjoy your company."

Liam put his hand on the back of Killian's head and pushed him gently until Killian lost his balance and had to hop down from the wall into the sand.

"Who's the right shit now, brother?" Killian said with a smile and one eyebrow cocked in question.

"Tsk, tsk! Language," Liam admonished with a wag of his finger. "What would father say if he heard such a thing from you?"

"'Bad form, Killian,'" he mimicked.

"We wouldn't want that now, would we?" Liam asked, laughing at Killian's imitation.

"S'ppose not," Killian admitted. "But you cuss plenty. Doesn't seem to bother him any."

"That's because I'm a grown man with a career. Father doesn't really have much say over me anymore."

"Well, he's not exactly here to have any say over me either, is he?" Killian said, indignation seeping into his words.

"S'ppose not," Liam agreed. "But _I_ am. No cursing until you are… eighteen."

"Bloody hell," Killian muttered, ducking his head as he tried, unsuccessfully, to hide the fact that he was rolling his eyes again.

Liam laughed. "You are quite the rule-breaker, little brother."

* * *

Later that day, the brothers combed their father's study looking for clues for where he might have gone, or who may have upset his study. There were none. Just an extra large pile of ash in the small fireplace. Liam felt like his father truly did not want to be found, whether it was by him and Killian or someone else.

There was one more place to look for something that might shed some light on his father's disappearance.

When Liam turned eighteen, his father showed him where he kept valuables: hidden behind the portrait of Liam and Killian's mother above the fireplace. Liam looked up at her likeness: dark hair and light dress windblown as she stood on the shore before rough seas, her blue eyes and mischievous smile so much like how he remembered her, he felt the pang of her loss for the second time that day.

He swung the painting away from the wall, revealing an opening that held an iron strongbox. On first inspection, the box looked like it had no lid or lock. It was rectangular, decorated in silver with the image of an octopus, its tentacles wrapping around each side as if it were holding its treasures close. Liam's father had paid handsomely for it on one of his missions long ago. It was no ordinary strongbox. What had made it so expensive was the enchantment put upon it that would only allow an immediate blood relative to open it.

Liam touched the box, feeling the smooth silver of the octopus cool beneath his fingertips. The tentacles began to shift and slide until they pulled back enough to uncover a latch. Pulling the latch up, Liam opened the box. It was empty, save for a sheaf of official-looking papers: his father's will. It was recently updated. Liam scanned the contents of the pages in his hand, and was unsurprised to see his father had left everything he owned to Liam — the house, a small sloop berthed in the harbor, and whatever money his father kept in the bank — with the stipulation that half would go to Killian upon his eighteenth birthday. Killian was to be placed under Liam's care as well until he came of age.

He folded up the papers, placing them back in the box. Then he closed it and returned the portrait to its proper place with care.

"What was in there?" Killian asked, trying to look over Liam's shoulder.

"Just Father's will."

"Oh."

Liam could hear the unasked question in Killian's voice. Would they be alright? He hoped so. But he didn't really know for sure, and he didn't want to make promises to Killian he didn't know he could keep. He may look like his father, but he wasn't going to behave like him anymore.

Reading the will made everything going on right now seem far too real. The idea of being accountable for not just their estate, but his brother, did not sit well with Liam. He wanted to be an Admiral some day, to make a name for himself that had nothing to do with his father or any other Jones before him. The only commitment he truly wished for was the command of a ship.

Liam knew he was running out of time to find someplace for Killian to live until he was of age. He needed to return to duty in 48 hours unless he could get an extension, but that would mean transferring to another ship. _The Sovereign_ was starting to become like a second home to him, and the men on it like family. He'd been earning their respect and was getting more opportunities to lead. There was no guarantee another ship would afford him the same opportunity. Still, Killian was the most important person in his life and he needed to figure out what to do with his brother. His options were limited, and none of them were ideal.

He sighed. All Liam wanted was for Killian to stay safe while he was at sea. He couldn't leave him alone in the house, and he didn't think he had time or money to hire a proper governess long-term. The only other family they had was a great Uncle of their mother's, but maybe he could help.

Liam put both hands on the back of the chair, leaning against it for his own sense of support, and tried to sound more confident than he felt.

"Listen, brother, I've been thinking. Maybe I should write to Uncle Marcus and Aunt Helena to see if they would take you in for a bit."

Killian groaned, dropping his head back to look at the ceiling in utter frustration. "Now you're going to abandon me, too? Bloody brilliant, Liam. You may as well kill me."

"Hey, now. Don't say things like that." Liam felt like he was still recovering from the idea that it was all too possible to lose his brother and he didn't care to keep revisiting it.

"There's not so much as a small pond where they live, and the two of them are at least three-hundred years old. I swear to you, I'll run away before the day is out if you send me there."

"You're being dramatic, Killian. I only mean for you to stay with them until we know more about what's going on with Father. I'm only trying to keep you safe."

Before he could talk sense into his brother, Killian stalked out of the room. Liam waited a few moments, cursing himself and his father yet again. Then he followed after Killian, knowing exactly where he'd go: the widow's walk. Liam used to take Killian up there and sit in the little room, teaching him how to read the clouds and sky to predict changes in weather.

When they were young, and their father was home between missions, he would bring them there to show them how to find home using only the stars in the night sky. Sometimes, if they were having trouble falling asleep, he would bring them there, where it was quiet, and regale them with tales of young sailors who faced great adversity only to save the day and become heroes. The boys had dreamed of their own "hero's journeys," and fantasized how they, too, would bring glory to the Jones family.

Those days felt very far away now.

When Liam got to the top of the narrow staircase, he found Killian slumped in one of the rickety cane back chairs, an equally old—and currently dusty—sextant resting loosely in his hands. It was the one his father had used to teach them to navigate.

"G'way, Liam."

Killian sighed when Liam sat down in the chair beside him anyway. The sun wasn't quite setting yet, but the sky was turning from the bright blue of afternoon, to something paler and softer before licks of orange and lavender rose up from the horizon.

"I'm sorry, Killian. I didn't mean to upset you."

"I'm not upset," Killian said as he placed the sextant back on the window sill. "I'm angry with Father for leaving us alone like this, and for not telling us anything. He _lied_ to me." He turned to meet Liam's gaze. "Part of me doesn't want to find him. I don't care how sorry he is." Killian's eyes were bright with unshed tears. "I don't think I can forgive him, Liam."

There was a part of Liam that agreed wholeheartedly. How his father could abandon them—Killian especially—was beyond him. But he was their father. Obviously, something out of the ordinary was going on, but it didn't really excuse his father's actions, and it now fell on Liam to make decisions he didn't ever think he'd have to make; what to do with Killian being at the top of the list. This was not the kind of responsibility he was looking to have and he felt guilty for it.

"I know, brother. I'm angry, too. But I can't leave you home alone while I'm at sea, and I can't give up my commission. I'm not good at anything else," he pointed out.

Killian leaned forward toward Liam. The sudden excitement on his face told Liam he'd obviously been thinking about this particular problem as well. "Then bring me with you. Back on _The Sovereign_."

Liam sat back and laughed. "As what? A bloody powder monkey?"

" _No_ , as a midshipman," Killian said practically between clenched teeth. "You know I'm old enough now."

"Barely."

"I can do it. So what if I'm younger than most. I'm a good sailor and you know it. Let me join, Liam."

Somehow Liam didn't think this is what his father meant when he charged Liam with Killian's well-being.

Liam shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. "I don't know, brother. I don't like the idea of dragging you along with me. It's dangerous even in the most peaceful of times. And the Admiralty frowns upon siblings serving together on the same ship. I couldn't look out for you."

Killian shrugged. "I can take care of myself. Think I just proved that, didn't I?" Killian asked, sitting back and crossing his arms over his narrow chest as he ran his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip and stared defiantly at Liam.

If he weren't so discomfited by the idea of Killian getting killed on a ship away from him—or worse, in front of him—he would have teased Killian for his cockiness.

Aside from that, Killian wasn't entirely wrong. Lots of career Navy enlisted as Midshipmen when they were quite young, like Killian. Liam was a few years older when he obtained his commission, but his father had some pull at the time. Liam had less than no pull, and if Killian didn't get in now, he might not get the chance, not without someone to back his commission. Liam was going to have to move quickly if he were going to go through the proper channels.

"Go find your best clothes. Tomorrow we'll go to the Admiralty and see if they will grant our request. Perhaps father's position there will be enough to recommend a favorable response."

Killian's face lit up. "Really?"

"Really. And take a bath, too. You're filthy."

The chair almost fell over in Killian's haste to get out of it and down the stairs. He paused long enough to squeeze Liam's shoulder.

"You won't regret it, brother. I promise I will be the model sailor."

Liam smiled. "You had better, little brother, or you will be swabbing decks and catching bilge rats for the rest of eternity."

When Liam stood, he noticed a messenger coming up the lane toward the house. By the time he got downstairs, the man was approaching the front door.

Liam opened it to find the messenger was from the King. The wiry man, wearing livery in the blue and silver of the King's crest held out an envelope. Liam took it, and the messenger turned and went back the way he came before Liam could respond.

Carefully tearing open the thick, gray envelope, Liam pulled out a card addressed to his father. The King was requesting his presence at the castle first thing in the morning.

"Bloody hell," Liam said. He and Killian were going to have to stop there first before visiting the Admiralty. He would need to explain why their father would not be making the appointment himself. Looked like Liam was going to need a bath and a fresh uniform himself.


	3. Big Brother

The next morning, the Jones brothers made their way to the castle and requested to see the King on behalf of their father. They were lead to an octogonal anteroom with dark blue walls and gold and white trim. The chairs were of gleaming mahogany and as uncomfortable as they were beautiful. Paintings of various landmarks throughout the kingdom covered the walls, and the two windows in the room looked out over a formal garden currently filled with topiaries and roses of all different colors.

Killian found a model ship on display atop a low marble pillar, and was peering inside one of the gunports. His hair, which had been neatly combed before they left for the castle, was now back to its normal state of disarray, and his clothes, while clean, were right on the cusp of not fitting him any longer in the leg or sleeve. Killian was right; he was going to be as big as Liam someday, and Liam suspected it would be sooner rather than later.

Before Liam could tell Killian to back away from the model he was about to put his hands on, the door opened, and a butler asked them to follow him out.

Liam nodded for Killian to go first, and the two were led to the King's throne room where they stood off to one side, while the King spoke quietly with a rough-looking man who had seen better days if his broken arm was any indication.

King Edward III was not an old man soft with time and excess. Rather, he was about the same age as Liam's own father, tall and fit in his crisp white waistcoat and gunmetal and black brocade coat. His dark hair was just showing touches of silver at the temples, and his pale gray eyes were sharp and observant. The King struck Liam like a ruler not to be trifled with.

The man with the broken arm reached into his sling, winced, and handed something small to the King, whose face hardened as he stared down into his hand. His mouth pressed into a thin line, he folded his hand into a fist, clutching the item, and nodded at the man, instructing him to wait outside for his secretary. The man bowed in return, thanking the king and offering his services again—once his arm healed, of course—and Killian stiffened.

Leaning in his direction, Liam whispered, "What's wrong?"

"That man, Liam. Something about his voice. I think he was the one who was aboard the _Wildsta_ r looking for Father—the one who beat the watchman," Killian said in rush.

Liam shook his head and frowned. "You said you didn't see the man. How can you be certain it's the same one?"

"I heard him well enough. He wasn't exactly the _quiet_ threatening type." Killian turned and faced Liam, moving closer to keep their conversation private. "Liam, he said father was a wanted man, and if the watchman didn't tell all he knew, he'd end up at the bottom of the sea along with him."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Because I thought it obvious someone was after Father, that's why. I wasn't planning on running into the bloke again," Killian said, exasperated. "Liam, what if the _King_ is the one after Father?"

Liam sighed and rolled his eyes. "Now, that I _know_ isn't possible, Killian. They've been well-acquainted with each other since before either of us was born. You can't be sure it was the same man. You were scared and hiding. So forget that thought right now, it's preposterous."

"But Liam, what if Father..." Killian started, glancing in the direction of the man who was almost through the door.

Liam gripped Killian's upper arm, cutting him off, and leaned in closer to whisper harshly in his ear. "Enough. Do you want to be with me on _The Sovereign_ , or not?"

Killian looked away. "Of course I do."

"Then watch your tongue. With an accusation like that, and no real proof, the King could separate us forever, do you understand? You are liable to end up in an orphanage and get me thrown in the brig. Or worse. Am I clear?"

"Aye, Liam." Killian nodded and straightened his shoulders. His jaw clenched and he glared at nothing in particular, but his fingers twitched against his leg as if he were tapping out the words he was being forbidden to say out loud.

Liam clapped Killian on the back. "Good lad."

King Edward finished conferring with his secretary, dismissed everyone from the room, and turned his focus to the boys who bowed as soon as the King acknowledged them. He beckoned Liam and Killian forward, and the two stood at attention before him.

"Lieutenant Jones, Master Killian," the King greeted them.

Both boys gave a shallow bow and resumed their stance.

"Your father went missing, didn't he?" the King inquired.

"Yes, Your Highness." Liam said.

"Do you know _why_ he disappeared, Lieutenant?"

Liam hesitated. He didn't know, but he was beginning to get the idea the King certainly did. He didn't like where this line of questioning was going, and knew how careful he needed to be. Killian wasn't the only one who could destroy any chance they had to stay together. Squaring his shoulders and keeping his eyes trained on a spot somewhere to the left of the King, Liam cleared his throat.

"I wish I did, Sire."

The King turned to face Killian whose bearing was similar to Liam's. "And you?" he asked.

"No, Your Majesty. He only told me we were going to sail the realms. He didn't say anymore than that."

The King nodded, seemingly deep in thought, and pulled at the dark gray whiskers beneath his lip. He was quiet for a moment, then sighed.

"Perhaps it would surprise you to know he'd been embezzling from the Kingdom? From his beloved fleet? _That's_ why he was on the run. He was a _traitor_ ," the King informed them in a voice that sounded almost despondent.

Liam and Killian glanced at each other; one face full of confusion and the other with increasing outrage.

Before Liam could speak, Killian burst out, "Our father is no traitor!"

The King took a step towards the boys. Liam could see Killian's jaw working, a sneer beginning to form on his lips, and his own stomach dropped. Confrontation with the King would not end well. The dread Liam had been pushing down since he returned home to an empty house rose quickly and overwhelmed him.

He reached for Killian. He wanted to pull his brother behind him, wanted to shake him for causing trouble, but Killian only stood his ground.

Smiling sadly, the King shook his head. "I felt as you did when I found out: confounded, betrayed, and so very vexed. I could not understand why he would do such a thing."

Liam was not normally at a loss for words, but he was at that moment. He had never been as close with his father as he would have liked, but he loved him. He respected him and his career both in and out of the Navy. But this, this didn't feel right, and he didn't know what to say or how to best protect himself or Killian. They were at the King's mercy.

Liam squeezed Killian's arm until the boy winced.

The king contemplated them with a face that bore too much sympathy for Liam's liking. The last time he had seen someone regard him in such a way, his mother had just died. Liam's gaze flickered down to the floor as he schooled the rest of his features, and looked back up again at the King and willed Killian to stay quiet.

"I wish that was the only bad news I had for you. I just received word that your father was killed trying to flee when my men caught up to him. He put up quite a fight, but in the end, my men prevailed."

He opened his hand and held out a ring—their father's silver signet ring with the red-orange stone. It had been in his family for generations and he was never without it. Killian was right; it was the King after their father. And apparently with good cause.

Liam watched, detached, as Killian's hand reached out and hesitated over the ring. He took it gently from the King's hand and curled his fingers around it. He swayed into Liam, and Liam reflexively put his arm about Killian's shoulders. For a moment, Liam felt like he was without his sea legs while being tossed about in hurricane stirred water and Killian was the only thing keeping him from falling.

He felt the world pulling away from him; the King's next words came from a great distance.

"I do not hold you responsible for your father's actions. Lieutenant, you are one of my loyal officers, and Killian, you can be _just_ like your brother. The two of you can restore honor to the name of Jones, and, out of respect for the friendship your father and I once shared as boys, _I_ will help you," the King finished.

Killian let out a shaking breath, bringing Liam back to their present situation. He looked down at his brother, and pulled him in tighter to his side. He wouldn't lose him, too.

"Thank you, Majesty," Liam said in a voice that sounded more like his father's than he'd noticed before. He wasn't sure that was necessarily a good thing right then. He continued regardless. "The only thing I would ask of you would be permission to take Killian with me back aboard _The Sovereign_ as a Midshipman. I had intended to approach the Admiralty, but if you could put in a word for us, I—we—would be your most loyal servants."

The King looked surprised, but pleased. "I can do more than that. I have plans for _The Sovereign_ , and she will need to be refitted, which should give you time to settle your father's affairs and prepare Killian here for a life at sea. I will send word to the Admiralty and your Captain that they grant your request."

Both Jones brothers, stunned at the turn of events, bowed and thanked the King for his kindness and assistance.

Before they turned to leave, he placed a hand on each of their shoulders and said, "In return, I will call on you from time-to-time when I need men I can trust with the most important of missions. Missions to bring peace to the kingdom once and for all."

"Aye, Your Majesty," they said in unision.

* * *

Later that night, as they readied for bed, Liam pulled the cord from around his neck, and this time untied it. He took the ring his father had worn and slid it down the cord until it clanked softly as it bumped into his mother's locket and the key to their home. Liam tied the two pieces of cord in an overhand knot before putting it back on again and felt the weight of it all against his chest as he lay down.

* * *

Lieutenant Liam Jones, and his newly commissioned brother, Midshipman Killian Jones, approached the jetty where jolly boat to transport officers and sailors back to _The Sovereign_ was waiting. For all that the previous fortnight alternated between tears and flared tempers as they put their former life behind them, on this day, Killian was the picture of barely contained excitement. A wide, dimpled grin spread beneath bright, blue-gray eyes that took in everything before them as if for the first time, even though he knew the wharf as well as their home. Killian's hand surreptitiously patted the place where the spyglass Liam gave him—to commemorate their joint post—was tucked in an inner pocket of his jacket. Liam couldn't help but smile himself, remembering how excited he had been for his first assignment.

Killian was outfitted in his new uniform of dark blue wool coat with a high collar and shining gold buttons, and a black cravat that, in its current state, was not quite to regulation. Liam shook his head and reached out, grabbing Killian's arm to stop him in his tracks. Killian looked up at his brother, annoyed at the delay, but keeping still as Liam reached over and began re-tying the cravat.

"Listen, Killian, just because we have the King's backing, doesn't mean things will be easy for us. If anything, it will be harder. When word gets out about Father and the King intervening on our behalf, there will most likely be whispers of how we are the King's pets… and worse. We are going to have to work twice as hard and endure harsher treatment from our peers, and possibly officers, to prove that we are worthy sailors and not traitors ourselves. You cannot step out of line, and you have to be brave in the face of horrific things."

Killian, whose face had turned implacable while Liam spoke, broke into an amused smile. He patted Liam on the shoulder as if reassuring a frightened child that all would be well. Liam, finished fixing Killian's uniform, eyed him suspiciously, wondering when their roles had reversed.

"Don't know what you are worrying about, brother. Sounds like a hero's journey to me."

Liam shook his head and laughed. "Aye, I suppose you're right. A hero's journey it'll be then." He put his hand out to Killian. "To the Jones brothers," he said.

Killian grasped Liam's hand and shook it. "To the Jones brothers."

* * *

 **Epilogue:**

 _Some time later..._

The plank shook beneath his feet, but David Jones remained calm and immovable. His hands were tied tightly together in front of him, the rope chafing against his wrists. The cut across the bridge of his nose stung, and his bruised cheek throbbed. He'd been stripped of his jacket, which, given its threadbare state was no great loss. His coppery beard was thick, unkempt, and streaked with white, and his wavy brown hair—normally slicked back into a queue—fell into his eyes as he faced his captor, the King.

"I knew I'd catch you eventually, Jones," the royal said with a smug smile from the quarterdeck of his flagship. There was more gray and silver threaded through his hair as well, and lines etched on his face that weren't there the last time they were in the same room together. "You aren't as clever as you think you are."

"Had you fooled for a bit, though, didn't I?" Jones retorted. "Honestly, Edward, you should think about better training those thugs you hire to do your dirty work. He was sloppy and provided me an opportunity as well: to make you think you were rid of me. I'm far better at surviving than you imagine."

"Says the man standing on a plank."

David Jones arched an eyebrow.

"I do have to thank you, though, David. If I've learned one thing from you, it's that if you tell people the right story, they will believe you without question. If you hadn't laughed at me all those years ago when we were boys, when I told you about Neverland, I would not have learned to disguise the truth as well as I did."

David remembered that day well now, having thought about it endlessly over the last couple of years. Back when they were young boys biding their time while their fathers conferred over wartime plans, he thought his friend was just telling him of a dream. Something fanciful and dangerous enough to sound exciting. Nothing more. He'd laughed, but he'd also never thought of it again. At least he hadn't until the days before he sacrificed everything to save their Kingdom and King from becoming something truly evil.

David had slipped up, though, and gotten caught before he could carry out the full measure of his plans. He'd been drawn out of hiding, thinking something had happened to Killian during one particular skirmish with an enemy ship. His son was only lightly wounded and now the proud owner of a thin scar across his cheek. David had wanted to see for himself that his boy was safe, even if Killian himself hadn't been aware. But it had cost David dearly.

Luckily he had a back up plan. It was risky, but he had faith. He shook his head.

"Eventually, _Your Highness_ , people will see through your lies, and your world will come crashing down. You won't win. Not in the long run."

"Shows how little you know. I'm already more than halfway to my goal. I will get the dreamshade. In spite of your constant interference and attempts to sabotage. I am only sorry that you won't be around to experience its effectiveness first-hand. Traitors _do_ make excellent test subjects."

"I'm no traitor. _Everything_ I've done, I've done for love of my country and the good of its people," Jones said without a hint of bravado.

The King stepped closer to the rail of the ship, casually leaning against it, all the while glaring at David Jones with an intensity that nearly raised gooseflesh on his skin.

"You think I love this kingdom less than you?" he spat. "Why do you think I plan on taking such extreme measures? To ensure everlasting peace."

"At what cost?"

"At _any_ cost."

David tilted his head and regarded the King. "You've changed, Edward. You are so far from the friend I used to know as a boy. What happened to you?"

"I'm weary from being the target of those who would take what is rightfully mine. What my father fought for and lost his life trying to protect. When I get that dreamshade, no one will dare challenge me again. I'll be remembered as the King who brought peace to the kingdom."

"You'll be remembered as a monster."

The King waved his hand dismissively. "That's simply your perception. I can tell you one thing: your boys don't see me as a monster. Your lost and lonely boys have found refuge under my care. They do my bidding gratefully, _whenever_ I call on them. Very dutiful and loyal boys you've raised."

Jones gritted his teeth and stared at the King, trying not to let his fury show. Every day he regretted having to leave his boys anywhere near this beast. But, they were safer where they were, unaware for the moment the true nature of their King.

"In fact, they do what you apparently could not. Follow orders," the King added.

Jones laughed, heartily. "You may think you have their loyalty, but I know my boys. They are far more clever than you give them credit for. When they figure out what you are planning—and mark my words, they will—they'll turn on you, and, indeed, do what I have not. They _will_ destroy you."

The King stepped forward and placed one shining leather boot on the edge of the plank, shaking it and causing Jones to bend his knees and shift his weight with the movement so he wouldn't fall off prematurely. The King looked at his former friend and grinned with a cold assuredness.

"Not. Bloody. Likely."

Jones didn't bother contradicting him. He stood, silently, eyes never wavering from the King's.

The King straightened up and crossed his arms. "Any last words, Jones?"

"Only these: I've made some… associations these past years with beings far more powerful than you, _Your Highness_ , and when you finally call for their mercy, not even the Gods will help you. But rest assured they will help my sons see you dead."

Without looking, David Jones took two steps backward to the edge of the plank.

"Good-bye, old friend," he said, and dropped into the water before the King could say another word. A silvery light flashed beneath the surface of the water, and all was dark again.


	4. Night Watch

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who took the time to read "Little Brother" and leave me feedback (even you Krusty)! I really appreciate it. I thought I would write a brief snippet of what came next for the Jones boys as a thank you.**

* * *

Several days had passed since _The Sovereign_ had put out to sea, and Liam had hardly seen his brother. They'd been placed on opposite watches, and Killian was assigned to another Lieutenant learning the specifics of how a warship operated. Liam was busy with his own company of midshipmen and seamen, and hadn't really had time to check in on Killian until now. **  
**

He tread softly along the humid and darkened gun deck where the midshipmen of the first watch were berthed, their hammocks swaying with the movement of the ship. He didn't want to wake them, nor be seen himself away from his post. Once his eyes adjusted to the dim, almost non-existent lighting, Liam finally spotted Killian's mop of dark hair, aft of the others. When he got closer, he could hear his brother's soft snore he would fall asleep to when they were younger and sharing a room. For a brief moment, he felt homesick.

As he got closer, Liam saw Killian's navigation log lay splayed atop his chest, and in an amazing feat of balance, one bare-footed, breech-clad leg dangled over the edge of the hammock. Seemed some habits were unbroken even at sea.

Liam reached down and shook Killian's shoulder, bracing himself against the boy's side so that when he woke up, he wouldn't flip out of the hammock onto the floor. At first, Killian didn't move, but when Liam whispered in his ear to wake up, Killian's eyes snapped open, his notebook slid into his lap, and he began reaching for his coat that hung on a hook over his head.

"Sorry, Lieutenant, didn't mean to oversleep," he said drowsily.

Liam smiled at Killian calling him "Lieutenant" without being teased first. He placed his hand on Killian's shoulder and whispered, "Shhh… You needn't get up. It's only me, brother."

Blinking rapidly, Killian tried to focus on Liam. His whispered response was panicked and harsh. "Bloody hell, Liam! What're you doing here? Are we in trouble?"

Liam shook his head. "No, no. Nothing like that. I wanted to check on you is all."

Killian took a deep breath, and carefully readjusted his position in the hammock, tucking his navigation log and a pencil stub that had rolled under his hip, into the pocket of his jacket.

"I'm fine, but you are going to get the lash if you don't get back to your post," Killian warned Liam, his eyebrows pinched together in concern.

"No one is going to miss me for a few more minutes, little brother. Don't worry. Are you eating enough?"

"Aye, but the meat's a bit tough, and the bread is dry."

"It gets worse."

"Wonderful."

Liam knelt down to save his back from aching. He still had a couple of hours or so left of his own duties. "No one is mistreating you, are they?" he asked, keeping his voice low to be sure none of the other midshipmen would hear.

Killian shrugged. "A few of the lads tried," he said, holding up his blouse to show bruises along his ribs. "I didn't let them get away with it," he finished and nodded toward a couple of the boys in hammocks ahead of him.

Standing up to glance at them, Liam could see one had a cut on his cheek, and the other a split lip. He knelt back down.

"While I'm glad to see you standing up for yourself, brother, I'm obliged to remind you be careful or you'll find yourself on another ship, or facing the lash yourself."

Killian sighed. "I know, Liam. It won't happen again. You have my word. I will be a model sailor, as I promised."

"Good," Liam said, patting Killian's arm. "Lieutenant Franklin tells me you are the best navigator of the lot," he said, his pride evident.

Killian smiled. "I am, but that's not hard with my company. They have no experience."

"Still, keep up the good work. A crack navigator can mean all the difference to a successful mission. No one likes to be lost," Liam said.

Killian nodded then yawned deeply.

"What time is it, brother?"

"Sometime after three bells. Perhaps close to four?"

"Bloody hell, I've got to be up at five bells," Killian groaned as his head dropped back into the curve of the hammock. "Feels like I just fell asleep."

"I get it. I'll leave. I just needed to make sure you were all right."

Killian reached out and tugged his brother's sleeve like he used to do when he was a small boy. "I am, brother. Don't worry so much. I'll be fine. Always am."

Liam smiled tightly at his brother and shook his head. He wasn't sure he'd ever stop worrying or wanting to keep Killian close. They were all they had left in this world, and after the heartache of the last month, Liam finally understood that they could not be together forever. It wasn't the way of the Navy, nor was it the way of life. But he would hold on as long as he could, and hope the King was serious when he said he would send the brothers on missions together.

He ruffled Killian's hair, earning him an eyeroll, and said, "Aye, little brother, that you are."


End file.
